


Andromeda

by godsnewabortion



Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Cult references, Gun Violence, Psychological Horror, Religious Imagery, Self Harm References, body/shock horror, implied sexual behavior, surgical references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:27:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godsnewabortion/pseuds/godsnewabortion
Summary: A girl finds herself in a situation that sends her down a path of death, insanity, and destruction. But, who's to say what those terms really mean looking through a humanistic perspective?
Comments: 7
Kudos: 4





	1. Mona Lisa

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to those who've been personally affected by works of fanfiction, and refuse to read them due to that reason. You are loved, and you are heard.

The skin on my flesh is burning with intent to rid the thoughts racing in my mind. The masochist standing on the other side of the room plagued the area between my legs. His dark irises made contact with mine, and my cheeks began to swell red. I look down in ignorant innocence, and focus my attention to the drunk on my right. He’s speaking in slurs, so I have to puzzle together the incoherent blabbering with all my will:

“W-what why won’t Sharon fucking listb-en to me-eeee! I wan-me fokin munneyyyy!

” But no matter how much attention I try to pay to this sap, I feel an almost omnipresent heaviness lurking in the air.

I can feel him staring.

My legs tighten at the thought.

_I must continue the charade._

As I move across the room, I knew Mona Lisa was present. I go to venture out into the open, and I feel a strong hand grab my wrist. The first thing I noticed about him was a collage of forearm tattoos. When I finally get over the trance like state they put me in, I looked up and saw the sad ember eyes that had entranced me moments before.

His voice was soft, but gravely in tone; he didn’t have perfect vocabulary, but the passion he evoked revealed a much wiser man. With the music blaring, I could barely make out what he was saying. The more his lips moved, the higher his hand moved up my thigh. His fingers radiated feelings of ill intent. As the moments passed, his broad torso inched closer to mine.

Every movement seems to be calculated, but careful enough to not overstep boundaries.

The tension was killing my soul.

_I must make my intentions known._

Before I could try, his fingers grazed the sides of my cheeks. He pulled me in and kissed my lips gently. The feeling of his hands running down my body mirrored that of electric shock. In order to keep me steady, the big hands eventually settled firmly on my hips. I could feel the cold of his lip ring as he sucked on my bottom lip. His tongue was very persuasive, pushing into my mouth with alarming ease. Tastes of cigarette and dark liquor assaulted me; I could feel myself getting intoxicated just from the fumes alone.

It wasn’t long until his lips trailed down to my jaw. He left gentle pecks, stopping at the gentle spot where it connected with my ear. Without hesitation, his kisses became more intense; it was enough to send my head back in intense pleasure.

These few moments felt like a lifetime. The affair was so intense, that the woozy nightlife surrounding us became almost mute. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter. It was only our two electric souls colliding in bittersweet harmony.

My body almost collapsed with grief when he eventually pulled away. In a soft, growling tone, he asked to spend the night with me:

**“I know a place where we could go. It’d be so much more intimate and raw.”**

I’m usually not the one-night stand type, but I couldn’t resist those tender puppy-like orbs.

The rest of the night was a blur to my conscious mind.

Everything was like a pleasurable fever dream; I remember the taxi, the moldy, dense air of the hotel, and the chilling feeling of my clothes coming off. But after that, time, or reason for that matter, wasn’t present.

_I don’t remember drinking this much._


	2. Carnations

I gasped for air. My eyes shot open at a rapid speed. My vision spotted black, head pounding out of my ears, and sick spewing out the corners of my mouth. But none of this mattered. There was no time to care about the state of semi-conscious hangover my body was in.

_Where the fuck am I?_

My body was stiff, almost immobile, crammed inside a claustrophobic space. It illuminated no light, and the stiff cold of the wood was splintering my half naked body.

_Dark, wood, claustrophobic. Dark, wood, claustrophobic. No, it can’t be. No, it can’t be. No, it can’t be. No-_

The realization of what kind of prison I was stuck sent me into a panic-stricken crescendo; the air becoming thicker around me as my breaths became more violent.

_I can’t die, this can’t be the end. I can’t die, this can’t be the end. Why god, why? Why god, why? I can’t die, I won’t die. I can’t die, I won’t die-_

A surge of energy pulsated through my veins as I began to kick the top open with all my might; the effort didn’t work. I pushed my hands up along with the still-going kicking motions. The more force I put upon it, the more my wrists seethed with intense pain.

The door finally snapped open.

_Whoever put me in here must’ve wanted me to escape. Or maybe they were coming back for me. Dumbass_

The dirt assaulted me, but I kept clawing up at it regardless. The need to survive made the fracture in my wrist seem like nothing. Bitter black grains mixed in with the vomit still present on my neck; they even began to choke me a little. It started to get too much to work at; the need to finally accept my fate got stronger with every passing moment.

 _Mom won’t get to see me graduate. Mom won’t see me become successful. I will always live in infamy as the disappointment. She was right, I can’t do anything correctly. For fucks sake, it’s my fault this happened anyway. I shouldn’t have let my guard down. I let everyone down._ I let everyone down.

As hope was dwindling, a peep of light illuminated through a blanket of dirt. I frantically tear at it with my remaining energy.

As the oxygen hit my lungs, tears began to well in my eyes.

_I’m alive. I’m alive._


	3. I Can't Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw // religious imagery & death mentions

The air was crisp, pushing against my hair with a harsh, bitter gusto.

As a reward for my victory, I flopped on the grass with a huge sigh of relief. Feeling a sting coming from my wrist, I weakly hold my left arm up to inspect it.

The hand looked as if it is permanently about to catch a baseball.

_Impacted fracture. Usually happens when the bone collapses on itself due to excessive pressure._

I got off the ground with my healthy hand, and began to take note of my surroundings.

_After so much trauma to the body, it isn’t best to make quick or sudden movements._

Still seeing black spots, and holding my wrist upright, I assessed the shallow grave. It was marked by what seemed to be a re-furbished yard sale sign. The paint job was sloppily done. It’s like the idea was either rushed, or a second thought. Aside from the shitty handy work, there’s another unsettling part of it. That being my full name displayed in black overlay:

“ELIZABETH “PURITY” MARY DREXEL

SEPTEMBER 25TH, 1980 – OCTOBER 28TH, 2004”

_Okay, the name and birth-date must’ve came from my Driver’s License. Those fucks must’ve stole it. But how the fuck did they know my childhood nickname? I haven’t been called “Purity” since 9th grade. I’ll take it for evidence._

The place I was buried was definitely a graveyard, but not a new one. Vines grew over what once were beautifully hand carved headstones. The thought of actual living, breathing, and feeling humans being forgotten to time brought tears to my eyes. At one point, loved ones would weep over these stones; people would lie next to them and tell the dead their stories. They would leave poppies, roses, and carnations as decorations; maybe even some would leave jewelry, photos, and notes to keep their memory alive.

_Is this why I’m here? Was I supposed to be forgotten?_

My wandering thoughts are interrupted by another gust of chilled wind; the sudden cold sent shivers down my spine. This reminded me that I was only clad in a pair of underwear and a bra.

_I’ll just freeze to death then. Shit, I’ve got to find my way home._

Not far from where I was buried, a line of large oak trees creating a barrier for the graveyard stood. The red leaves crunched under my feet as I peeked through. Behind them was a quaint and poorly paved back road, across from it lived a vast cornfield. In front of it, there was a scarecrow and a sign that read:

“AND DO NOT FEAR THOSE WHO KILL THE BODY BUT CANNOT KILL THE SOUL. RATHER FEAR HIM WHO CAN DESTROY BOTH SOUL AND BODY IN HELL.

-MATTHEW 10:28”

_Ah, classic rural Iowa. Corn and religious trauma._

I spotted a farm house in the midst of the field.

 _Maybe I could use their phone. No. They’ll probably tell me to go to hell. They’d see my current state and think I’m either doing a satanic ritual or am an undead prostitute._ _No Liz, you need to try. You need to find your way home._

With my make shift “gravestone” in clutch, I crossed the street into the dense field. Watching for animals, I carefully sifted my way through. The crops were so high that navigation became difficult; mud caked my bare toes and bugs flung in my mouth as I trudged forward, Despite the obvious strain, I progressed with weary rigor.

In order to keep my mind busy, I entertained myself with mood lifting thoughts:

_I swear to God, If I see a cult of children in these fields, I’m gonna make a fuckin run for it._

_I know why corn doesn’t grow in the summer, this shit would turn into a popcorn field if that were the case._

_When my grandma told me to play in the dirt more, I don’t think this is what she meant._

After what felt like an eternity, I finally get to the house. The dirt driveway donned two trucks that looked like they haven’t been driven in years. There were scraps of metal and random gardening tools scattered about without care.

_Damn, clean much?_

The house itself looked like it was built in the 1930’s; the color of it was a faded mustard yellow. Shingles on the roof seemed to be rotting off piece-by-piece. As I got closer, I could see the windows bulging out and being covered with floral sheets. After what felt like a corn maze in itself, I finally made it to the splintered front porch.

I knocked on the glass door with hesitant force. It took a few moments for someone to float to the front of the house. After peering through the second wooden door, a person answered the knock.


	4. Forever in your Soul

“H-Hello? W-What do you-”

His ice blue eyes gazed at my form. A look of concern and discomfort flushed over his face. He stopped, and then continued in a soft, breathy tone:

_**“Oh my God, w-what happened to you? Are you okay?”** _

I asked him if I could come in and clean up first. In response, his eyebrows furrowed with doubt. I continued to plea, telling him I found myself in a dangerous situation and desperately needed help. Seeing that I was truly in duress, he reluctantly obliged my pleadings.

As he led me in, I dropped the sign at the front door. We got into the front entrance hallway, and the smell of a pot roast cooking hit me. My head begun to pound, and my stomach growled and shrived with hunger pains.

_God, I’m so fuckin hungry. The Last thing I had was breakfast yesterday morning with Sid._

Before I can take in the layout of the downstairs, he ushered me upstairs with urgency:

_**“P-Please come this way. I’ll get you some clothes, some bandages for that hand, and what you need for a shower. By then, dinner should be finished. Then we can discuss the next steps going forward.”** _

We both stomped up the creaky stairs. I observed the faded paper that lined the walls; old professional shots, kids sports photoshoots, and wedding photos dressed the peeling roses behind them.

As soon as we got to a bedroom, he started to shuffle through an old wardrobe. In the meantime, I began to study the man that I trusted to help me. He was a taller guy with lanky looking legs. His stomach had a bit of pudge, but it filled out his figure in a weird way; the shoulders were broad, but remained in a permanent slouch. The face was unassuming: thin in overall structure, lips forming nice puffy roundness, and an elongated nose. The eyes are almond shaped, with eyebrows placed vertically above them. In order to see what he was doing, his mid-length brown hair was pushed behind his ears. It was stringy, but had a weird amount of volume to it.

_Alright Liz, stop being a forensic science major for 10 seconds. This man isn’t a criminal, or even a love interest. This isn’t a movie, this is real life._

I was paying so much attention to my thoughts, that I almost missed him walking out.

_**“Please stay here, let me grab you some toiletries and something to wear.”** _

In the time I was left alone, I explored the small area I resided in. There was nothing on the white walls, only a cross that was tacitly placed above the bed. Inside the wardrobe rested a few floral robes and a large suit. There was nothing in either bedside table, only a bible that had a note inside:

“FOR MY SWEET GRANDSON CHRISTOPHER, THE LORD HAS BLESSED US WITH YOUR ARRIVAL. MAY HE LIVE ETERNALLY IN YOUR SOUL!

-LOVE GRAMA & GRANDPA”

I snapped the book shut as he came in with the supplies. In response, he smiled amusingly at me:

_**“I see you found my bible. You can just call me Chris by the way.”** _

He looked at his findings with furrow eyebrows:

_**“There are no women’s clothes to be found, so I brought you mine. Also, here are some items to get you cleaned up.”** _

He placed the toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, soap, comb, towels and deodorant neatly, almost too intricately, first. Odd, but considerate. Next came a blue button up, a pair of overalls, socks, men’s boxers, and

_A cross necklace…? Weird, but I’ll oblige him. He did offer me his home for God’s sake._

_**“The bathroom is next door. I’ll get dinner ready in the meantime.”** _

I headed for the bathroom; but before I could turn the handle, he turned to me with a lit up expression.

_**“Ah, your hand! Please take the time to get decent, and then I’ll patch you up.”** _

His eyes were trying so hard not to scan my figure. I knew he was uncomfortable by the rouge tint beginning to show on his cheeks.

_**“I-uh uhm, should-uh be going. uh-yeah-uhhh.”** _

He gave up on his words, and turned away quickly to the stairs.

_Awww._

I finally go to the bathroom and am instantly assaulted by the 1970’s. It looked like the era threw up and didn’t bother to clean up; there was a green shag carpet, god awful yellow shower curtains, and an “Earth, Wind, and Fire” record framed above the toilet. Y’know, the usual bath decor.

_It feels nice to have these dirty fuckin “clothes” off._

I stepped in and felt the warm rush of the water hit my skin. It kind of felt like nothing was wrong in those few moments; it felt like the soap and heat were washing all the last 24 hours away.


	5. Eaten Alive

Even with a broken wrist, I managed to get myself “decent”.

Not to disrupt the flow of the household, I slowly tiptoed down the stairs into the kitchen and living area.

_Damn Chris, choose an era for your house._

Everything looked straight out of a misogynistic 1950s advertisement; from the couch, to the oven, to the dining table, and even the clocks.

_At least the green and light yellow theme balance out each other. And oddly, at least he has a modern television._

He seemed nowhere to be found. I scaled the first floor and couldn’t find him anywhere; not in the kitchen, not in the living room, not on the front porch, and not in the bathroom. Nowhere.

_What if he abandoned me? What if he’s going to grab a chainsaw to chop me up with? What if the guy who tried to kill me successfully killed him? What if he’s here-What if I’m-_

Before I can begin to contemplate sudden death, Chris showed up with a small white box.

_**“I hope you enjoyed your shower. Had to dig in my grama’s old shed for her nursing equipment. She taught me all that I know.”** _

He gingerly grasped my forearm and wrapped a cloth over the wrist. Then, he placed a metal splint on the joints above and below the impact point. I yelped a bit as he tightly fastened the two splints to keep it all in place. There was something about his big figure working diligently, but intently on my dainty wrist. I don’t know what that something was, but it put my stomach in knots.

_Eh, maybe it’s because my stomach is eating itself alive…... yeah, that’s probably it._

Without another word, he went to the stove and plated some pot roast, carrots, and mashed potatoes. After setting it in front of me, he went to pour me a large glass of water.

I wanted to devour the meal, but I didn’t want to be rude; I just waited for him to get his meal ready.

_**“Y’know, I’m shocked your body didn’t collapse on itself due to your fracture. Truly extraordinary. After we eat, I can take you to the ER so that professionals can take a look at it.”** _

Finally, he got his stuff together and sat down across from me. Noticing I haven’t touched my food, he peered up at me with concern:

_**“Please, don’t wait for me to eat. Liz, right? Tell me what exactly happened to get you in this mess.”** _

Between fork fulls, I explained everything to the best of my knowledge. He didn’t seem to have an adverse reaction to the bizarre story; he just listened closely and quietly. As I finished the tale, his timid demeanor switched to a more emotive one:

**_“Wow, that’s truly incredible. I have never heard anyone survive being buried alive. You must be either super lucky or superhuman.”_ **

_Huh, he’s got a point. How the fuck did I survive?_

_**“I don’t know if this helps, but there has been abnormal behavior going on ‘round here. My goats have been going missing, and there have been random cross burnings in my fields. I thought it was just kids trying to rile me up, but maybe it’s something more sinister.”** _

I didn’t have any words to rebut his statement, so I just sat there with him in pondering silence.

Looking puzzled, he continued:

_**“...like a cult maybe?”** _

That would make sense for his situation, but why would a cult go all the way to kidnap and bury someone?

I told him that thought, and he didn’t really have an answer to it either. In order to dodge discussing this further, the conversation quickly shifted.

_God, I hate small talk._

The difference between usual small talk I have and this one was his intense attentiveness to me. He seemed to hang on every single word that came out of my mouth. His piercing eyes changed in size and shape with the shifting subjects. You could almost feel a sort of raw emotion radiating from his body language; the emotion itself vaguely resembling attraction and intrigue. It’s nothing like I have ever experienced before.

Finishing my plate interrupted the trance-like state he put me in. I offered to help clean, but he steadily declined:

_**“No worries. Please enjoy the television as I get this cleaned up. Then off to Des Moines we go.”** _

I flopped on the green couch and turned on the TV to Jerry Springer re-runs.

_Wow Jerry, you really made Peter Steele look even more sexy. If that was your plan, then mission accomplished man._

After what felt like too many minutes of reality TV. trash, Chris was done with the kitchen.

_**“Alright Liz, let’s get going before it gets too dark. Des Moines is an hour out, so we gotta make haste.”** _

We left the house and headed toward the two trucks in the driveway. The beat up state of the one we’re taking concerned me.

_1990 Ford F-150. Red and Tan. Just like my dad used to own. Wonder where that truck is now…_

I was almost in shock to see how clean the interior was. Nothing was out of place; no dirt, no cups, no receipts, and no napkins. Only a portable ashtray remained in the middle console. The seats smelled like clean sheets and stale cigarettes.

He saw my shocked expression, and a playful looked became plastered on his face.

**_“Since I can’t afford the ‘01 Porsche I want, I have to make this one look as sexy as possible. I mean I’m reckless on the road anyway, so this is the best bet.”_ **

_Oh god. I might almost die again._

The trip itself was pretty uneventful. The highways were full of weird religious ads and real estate billboards. Watching Chris chain-smoke wasn’t a bad view to behold either.

He also had a pretty good taste in music, so I had that to keep me company too.

_Ulver, Acid Bath, Tool, and Deftones. Not what I expected from him._

We got to Des Moines around 7 PM, and the traffic still sucked ass. He seemed to weave through it without any issue. Of course curses came from his breath, but he stayed mostly calm. I paid attention to the normal attractions: the laundromat, the corner store, the mall, and a couple of graveyards.

_This is really the shithole of the U.S._

When we pulled into the hospital parking lot, I felt my anxiety rise.


	6. Anesthesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw // surgical procedure

I began shaking and crying.

_What if I tell the police and no one believes me? What if they make me stay here, and the kidnappers come back to finish the job? What if the kidnapper is part of the hospital staff? They know about-_

Hesitantly, Chris pulled me into a hug. I could smell the fresh cigarette and cologne he put on. Those strong arms around me felt like a shield.

_Why does this feel so fuckin right?_

_**We checked in at the front desk and sat patiently for our turn. He knew I was shaken up, so he started to tell me stories:** _

_**“In high school, the “popular” group started making rumors about me being a man whore…”** _

_Huh?_

_**“...everyone knew I was the shy kid, so it was easy to make shit up about me. I mean, hearing about all of my “encounters” was nice, but they all never happened. Maybe I should’ve kept the lie going.**_..”

He kept regaling about the many embarrassing high school experiences he had. However, I was barely paying attention to them, because I spotted a payphone across the room.

_I need to call Sid. He’s probably freaking the fuck out right now. I promised we could watch a copy of House of 100 Corpses that I bought the other night._

_Shit, I don’t have any change._

Interrupting him mid-sentence, I asked for some quarters to use the machine. He fished in his pockets and pulled out a dollars worth of coins.

_Good, that should buy me a minute or two._

I thanked him and went to the phone. I dialed the number and a frantic voice answered the call.

_**“H-hello who’s this?… ...LIZ LIZ LIZ...oh my fuckin God, where the fuck were you!? I was about the call the fucking pigs, but decided not to since I have an ass load of dope on me right now…** _

_**….the HOSPITAL!? Why?! Who are you with?! I’m on my fuckin way now…”** _

_God, having Sid as a friend can be tiring as shit. It’s feels like talking to a bull on acid sometimes._

My name finally got called, and we headed to a small room.

The doctor asked what happened, and Chris came up with some bullshit about me falling down a ladder while fixing a light. The guy believed us, but he did have some concern:

_**“You guys must’ve waited awhile to get this checked out. The swelling is indicative of mistreatment to the impact area. If you would’ve waited any longer, your fracture would’ve been permanent. I think for the severity of the injury, we must perform a surgical procedure on it.”** _

Almost immediately after the doctor left, some really nice nurses took me back and prepared me for surgery.

When they put the anesthesia mask over my face, it felt like I was back in the box again.

_God, please don’t let me die. God, please don’t let me die. God, please don’t let me die. God-_


	7. Streetlights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw // self-harm mention

_**“Hey BUD, who the fuck are you– and what the FUCK did you do to my friend?!?!”** _

_**“Nothing, ASSHOLE. She came to ME in distress. Where the FUCK were you?!?!”** _

_**“Trying to find her ass, Mr. Clark Kent. You’re not fuckin special, you were just convenient.”** _

_Of course this is the shit I wake up to._

Sid and Chris were standing on opposites sides of my bed. Both of their faces were red as they bickered back and forth. The conversation itself was amusing, with both parties throwing one off insults at each other. “Asshat, fuckface, bird-nose motherfucker, and sewer rat” were my personal favorites. I almost didn’t wanna open my eyes in order to keep it going, but I had to anyway.

**_“LIZ.. LIZ.. you’re alive! Glad you’re awake, I couldn’t stand talking to Clarkie over here..”_ **

**_“It’s Chris, asshole….”_ **

**_“...okay, Chrissy.”_ **

I eventually had to tell them to stop arguing. While amusing, it was also counterproductive to the situation at hand.

While waiting for the doctor, I got time to tell Sid the whole story. The guy has had some shit happen to him in his lifetime, so the nonchalant reaction wasn’t shocking:

_**“Are you fuckin’ serious? A coffin? Like an actual coffin? Every goth chick on MySpace is gonna fuckin worship the ground you dug out of. I’m so glad you’re alive Liz, like I couldn’t survive without your uptight ass.”** _

Sid and I have been friends since the 3rd grade. We have always been the dynamic duo: the insane rat-tail DJ and the insane-ly introverted artist. He has always been there for me through it all; the suicide attempts, the aftermath of my father’s death, the rumors of my exploits, and the incessant bullying in high school. When I would need a ride home from the many mental institution stays, his cheap old Toyota would be waiting out front.

_God. Without him, I’d be dead by now._

After an hour and 2 vital checks, the doctor came back. He finally gave me the okay to head home:

_**“You’ll have this cast on for 5-10 weeks. After that, physical therapy will be set up to get it properly functioning again. I’m going to write a 30-day prescription for clinical strength aspirin. And please, if you fracture something again, please seek medical attention immediately.”** _

With the doctor out of the room, it left us three again. The tension between the two had simmered down into a strained acquaintanceship.

Since it was getting dark outside, I asked Chris if he would like to stay at my place for the night. The other man didn’t like that:

_**“Nononono, this fuckhat isn’t staying with you.”** _

I just gave him the “He’s-fine-can-the-bullshit-Sid” look. I then turned back to Chris and asked again.

_**“I mean if it isn’t any trouble... I don’t want to intrude. I know that you’ve had a rough last 24 Hours.”** _

Much to Sid’s chagrin, I insisted that he could stay with me and that it would be no issue.

While Chris went to use the restroom, there was nothing but protests spewing out of Sid’s mouth:

_**“I don’t know Liz, this guy seems a little suspect. Dontcha think? Like you just met this motherfucker. Maybe he’s the one who buried you in the-”** _

I cut him off and reminded him of the gentleman I met at the club. I also told him that Chris was not the type of person to do that type of thing.

_**“Yeah…but you’ve legit only known him for like a couple of hours. Like how do you know for sure?”** _

Before I could rebut, the other man came back with a puzzled, but amused expression on his face:

_**“What’re you two talking about? I assume it’s about me? Wow! I feel like I’m back in high school!”** _

Another stream of grumblings came out from my friend as we left out the front entrance. The amusing atmosphere the two men created was overshadowed by the gloomy fog that has seemed to muster. It was like something (or someone) was lingering in the thick air around us.

I decided to ride with Sid back to the apartment, so we headed straight to the parking garage where he was parked. The feeling that has been following me for this whole experience resided in the moldy dampness of the elevator. My friend was talking to me, but I had no clue what he was saying. With every step we made to our destination, the maddening feeling of rubatosis got worse and worse.

Plastic food wrappers, chip bags, and fast food cups are scattered on the floor; count the litter Liz. Do anything to not hear the pounding sensations in my chest. God, what if the...bumpbumpbump… stranger is in the car? What if he is……bumpbumpbumpbump...waiting for me somewhere? What if……bumpbumpbumpbump...damn it.

Getting in the small car felt like a safety blanket. Once I clicked my seat belt, the nonsensical rantings poured back in my ear at full force:

_**“Like I don’t get it man…. why the fuck do moviemakers always try to make the stalker sexy? Like man, I’m trying to stay the fuck away, not fall in love with them in their chamber!”** _


	8. Zombie

Getting to the apartment gave me mixed feelings. The relief of finally being home after what happened felt nice, but the knowledge that there were people probably looking for me still lingered.

It took a village to get Sid to leave me with Chris. Even after he agreed to it, he had more to say:

“……eughhh...FINE!! If you wanna stay with Pinocchio over here then that’s not my problem. If you end up dead then that’s on you this time!”

_Oh Sid. A man with terrible tattoo’s and terrible word choices._

As he got in his car, he shot out more insults. The other man just sat there and took such zingers as: “White Bread, Big Bird, Toucan Sam, and Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood Yard Flamingo”. He didn’t try to argue back, or react to them negatively. Honestly, he looked on the verge of laughter.

It wasn’t until Sid left that he burst into a side-splitting fit.

_**“Oh my god, those are the best damn insults I’ve ever heard in my life. I wonder where the big-brow motherfucker gets his ideas from. Let’s get in the house.”** _

All the light we had was from Chris’ Motorola and the dim orange parking lot streetlights. I’ve been meaning to fix the porch light, but I haven’t got around to doing it yet. Since the keys to my home were in a stranger’s possession, I had to improvise with the spare that I hid under the mat.

The outside left us vulnerable to the evils lurking about. At any moment, someone could pounce on us, kill us, and leave us for dead.

_My attackers could be around any corner. They could be around waiting for us to get comfortable. Or maybe they’re already in the house…...oh no, our blood is gonna be caked on the carpet._

I started shaking so much that Chris had to open the door for me. After what felt like an eternity, we finally got inside.

Before I did everything else, I made sure to check every room for intruders. I was followed around for protection and comfort.

_I have to be sure. I have to be vigilant._

_Living room? Nope. Kitchen? Nope. Bedroom? Nope. Bathroom? Nope. Linen Closet? Nope. Att-_

_**“Liz, give it a rest. No one’s here. Maybe some movies would help ease the nerves?”** _

Even in violent disagreement to the idea, I agreed to do it anyway. I can’t say no to that soft face.

I quickly changed into my pajamas and went to my almost vacant TV stand: All the DVD’s I had to my name were “Freddy vs. Jason”, “Misery”, and the “House of 1000 Corpses” one I had just bought. I didn’t think he’d enjoy the odd assortment of horror flicks, but he was energetically intrigued with them.

After watching “Misery”, we had a great discussion about how people obsess over their idols, and when obsessions with celebrities can go too far:

_**“...yeah like I don’t get it...celebrities are people too. Why go so far as to do things in their name that will ultimately hurt them in the end? Wouldn’t you think that if you worshiped someone, then you would have a bit of respect for them?”** _

He’s got a good point. Chris’ personal favorite was “House of 1000 Corpses”. He loved when Bill got turned into a fish platter. After watching it, he couldn’t stop screaming _**“FISH BOOY!”**_ at the top of his lungs.

It was for those few hours that I felt like nothing was out of place; we laughed, we cowered, we jumped, and we screamed. Despite the joy, I had bouts of intense fear reactions; I would shake violently, feel the need to vomit, and begin to see stars.

_Maybe I don’t need to watch these so soon after a traumatic event. This wasn’t the best idea._

Every time he felt me tense up, he’d squeeze my hand tight to give me a sense of stability. It’s so fuckin cliché to say, but it felt like my hands fit perfectly in his; it was like they were meant for each other. They felt coarse and calloused, like they alone could protect me from the world.

When I put my head on his broad shoulder, he placed our locked hands on the top of my knee. The gentle squeeze that came after sent a surge of warmth right through me.

After the movies, we sat and watched some random action drama shows. I pretended to fall asleep to see what he would do; not to my surprise, he picked me up like a baby. He took me in my room, tucked me in gently, and kissed me on the forehead. All I could remember before I passed out was the feeling of big arms wrapping around me, and a gentle hum in my ear.


	9. Ember Eyes

With eyes crusted, I turned around to check if Chris was still next to me. There was no sign of him; the only trace of his existence was a note on my nightstand that read:

“LIZ, I’M SORRY I HAD TO LEAVE SO SOON. THERE WAS AN EMERGENCY FIRE IN ONE OF MY NEIGHBOR’S BARNS AND I HAD TO GO HELP THEM.

FOR MY THANKS, I MADE YOU A SMALL & SIMPLE BREAKFAST. THERE IS ALSO COFFEE IN THE POT.

MY NUMBER IS (515) 529-0932 IF YOU NEED ANYTHING. PLEASE KEEP ME UPDATED.

-CHRIS”

_Breakfast? I haven’t had someone make me breakfast in years._

I went to the kitchen and placed the now cold plate in the microwave to heat; to pass the time, I snagged a cup of coffee. As I shuffled through the cabinet for the creamer, I heard my house phone ring. Moving slowly from morning drowsiness, I eventually picked it up. A very familiar voice answered it:

**_“Is...is this Liz Drexel? Yes, hey! It’s James Root from high school!”_ **

_Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. THE Jim Root from high school? The guy I had a crush on for four years of my life?_

Jim was always super nice to me back then, despite us being from two different friend groups. I was treated horribly in high school, and he (apart from Sid) was a saving grace. He would compliment on my art and always ask me how my day was. When I would hide behind the bleachers when I wanted to be alone, he always showed up to comfort me. To cheer me up, he would play songs on his guitar for hours on end. Men like him were usually not my type, but there was just something different about him; incredibly tall, beautiful smile, and long flowy brown hair….

_God, he was so beautiful_

**_“...uh yeah, I’m coming back to Des Moines for a guitar convention. I was wondering if I could crash over at your place for a week? The parents are retired and don’t really want me bothering them, y’know? You’re the only person that has picked up my calls. I tried calling your cell and there was no answer.”_ **

I agreed to let him stay.

_I mean... what could go wrong?_

During our half an hour conversation, I scarfed down the breakfast and downed two cups of coffee. My agenda was booked for the day, and I needed to expedite my routine.

As I was brushing my teeth, I looked in the mirror and saw nothing but a void. What was once a beautiful rose is now a withered weed; my sunken in eyes were dull, cheeks were pale and lifeless and, body hollow and thin.

_I look like a monster._

It didn’t help that there was this omnipresent force that was present throughout the whole process. The eyes that have seemed to draw themselves in the walls felt focused in on me. They scanned every move of mine; from changing, to eating, to shower, to sleeping. I felt like breaking these barriers apart just to figure out whose behind them, and what they wanted.

_Those dark eyes. Oh God, those ember eyes. They’re here. He’s here. I could feel those walls closing in on me. The soft gravely rambles of the stranger I met wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept telling me that I was beautiful. He kept kissing me. He kept touching me. He took advantage of my vulnerability. He buried me. He made a fool out of me. He left me for dead. He took my sanity._

_He must die. He must die. I must find him. I must find him. I need answers. I need his blood on the floor._

_Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!_

When I came back to my thoughts, a horrific scene was left as a reward for my breakdown. I apparently had taken a sledgehammer and put several holes in my bedroom wall; the guts behind them laying all over the floor. My face was hot, and the tears left my makeup a smudged mess.

_No time to clean. I gotta take this makeup off and run my errands._


	10. Maggie

_Goddamn it, why does it cost $100 to replace a fucking license?_

I had taken public transport to the DMV, where a very plain looking man was helping me. He was short and stout, his eyes a pale blue, the glasses on his face were too small, and he had a bearded face. The name tag read:

“CRAIG”

He was pretty mute and had a resting bitch face, but he got the job done.

_Now I can fuckin drive...when I get a goddamn car._

After taking the bus to the store, and hassling people to replace my stolen phone, I had one more thing to do. Luckily, my grandma has an old ‘92 Dodge Caravan that she doesn’t use anymore. I just would need it until I can afford a new one.

Of course when I finally got there and asked her, she had questions:

_**“What happened Elizabeth? Oh, you had to get it repaired? Where?”** _

Y’know how old people can be? Like they don’t get out much, so any visitor is gonna get an earful? Yeah, that’s my grandma Maggie.

She rambled on about her bingo night, flowers not growing, how fun it was when I lived with her, and the VMW dance night…

_**“Oh! You wouldn’t believe who I saw there! Remember your old drum teacher, Mr. Crahan?”** _

Damn. That’s a name I haven’t heard in years…wonder what Shawn’s up to?

_**“Yes! He and another nice looking gentleman were helping out with snacks! Isn’t that sweet? The other man is JUST your type. Tall, muscular, long dark hair….wow he was a looker!”** _

After some quality time with grandma, I took the caravan home. When I got there, there was a message from Jim on the voice machine:

_**“Hey, Jim here. Just wanted to let you know that I’ll be here earlier than I said. Snagged a cheaper flight for today rather than Monday. Should be landing there this evening! See you then Liz!”** _

_Shit, the walls! The house looks awful…_

I had also grocery shopped, so I hopped between putting those away and cleaning up the aftermath of my breakdown. After what felt like a full-day cleaning job, I finally got to prepare a lasagna bake for dinner. As my body flopped on the couch, I heard a knock on my door.

_Ahhhhhh, damn it._

When I opened the door, I was blown away but what I was witnessing. There was a man standing there, resembling the one I crushed on in high school. He had the same face, but it was worn down. His hair was darker, shorter, and dirtier; he had facial hair and sunken in eyes.

_But his smile is just the same._

After hugs and greetings, he came in to the house; the poor guy was almost too tall to fit in the door frame. The situation made it too difficult to hold in laughter.

_**“Yeah yeah yeah...don’t laugh! Apparently your landlord doesn’t want tall handsome men coming in!”** _

We sat at the kitchen table for hours. Like we used to do, we talked about nothing and everything all at once. From our lives, to movies, to music, there was nothing left to discuss by the end of the night. For old times sake, he even played some tunes on his guitar. If Chris wasn’t in my life, I would’ve fallen for him again.

_I wonder what Chris is doing…_

Jim made me feel young and radiant. Just his presence put me in a state of ignorant bliss.

_But God, I know none of what happened is over. Those fuckin eyes are still lurking. I can feel them staring._


	11. Crucifed Charisma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// graphic scenes of violence

It has been about a week since Jim came into town. Today’s the day he gets his flight back to Vegas.

_God I wish he’d stay a little longer. His company is what I need right now._

Ever since he left, I haven’t heard a word from Chris.

I’ve tried calling him, but it keeps going to voicemail.

_Why is he doing this to me? I thought he liked me? What happened to call if you needed anything?_

In order to not wake Jim, I went through my morning routine as careful as possible. It was 8AM, and I wanted to beat traffic. I was going over to see Chris; mostly because I forgot my grave marker, but also because I miss his face and want to check in on him. In order to return the kindness he showed me, I wanted to surprise him with my grandma’s banana pudding.

With coffee in clutch, I got in the car and headed back to the farmhouse.

The usual billboards lined the highway:

_Jesus is King….my ass…_

I forgot breakfast, so I swung by a rest stop to grab something. It was the morning, so the usual bustle that usually was there wasn’t present. There was only the cashier and one trucker in buying a cup of coffee hanging around in there. Following the trucker to the counter with coffee and a protein bar, I couldn’t help but to eavesdrop on what the two were talking about:

_**“Man, I was trying to sleep in my truck and I all of a sudden... heard a fuckin screech. I go out to see a group of men surrounding a hog tryna kidnap the poor thing. All ‘em looked like some demon worship people. I honked my horn and those scary mu’fuckers ran for the hills.”** _

The cashier, a small man with long dark hair and no eyebrows, replied in monotone disbelief:

_**“Damn, I’ve been hearing about some shit that has been going down in the sticks. Like with satanic rituals and shit...freaky stuff…”** _

I was able to pass off as if I didn’t have a clue about the subject at hand. Without a word, I bought my items and headed on.

When I got to the house, something seemed off. Like...really off. The big door to the house wasn’t closed, the screen door was torn, and Chris’ truck door was wide open. The air felt heavier, like something that didn’t belong was lingering there; it felt like something was horribly wrong.

The air inside the house was suffocating; it didn’t help that a rancid, almost unbearably disgusting smell was ever so potent. The stench reminded me of that one time my grandpa took me to the slaughterhouse. It was like something had been dead for a while. Almost choking, I put my shirt over my face to continue forward. I shuffled to the kitchen and-

CRASH.

_Oh my fucking god. Oh no. This can’t be real. This isn’t real. This can’t be real. This isn’t-_

The sight before me made me drop the pudding on the floor. The table was set nicely, almost too nicely; a tablecloth, candles, flowers, and nice silverware were placed with intent. There was a platter ready for a feast, but what was on it was inedible. It was a chopped up body. The head was oozing congealed blood out the neck, and the eyes turned backward with puss and maggots caked in the sockets. It had an apple in what looked to be rouged lips, and hair matted with inhuman blood. There were also hands with chopped carrots and onions placed neatly in them. In the middle of the platter was the worst… a torso. It seemed to be cooked, and had a sort of dry turkey stuffing in the rotten sockets where the limbs were supposed to be. There was also a note that was written in almost unintelligible handwriting. It read:

“PIG BOOY! ENJOY YOUR FEAST, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BITCH. YOUR TIME IS COMING SOON.”

Reality seemed to slip out of my grasp. The letters on the note became blurred and my body went numb; the piercing screams and cries coming out of my mouth rang in my eardrums. The thoughts in my head had no beginnings or endings, only dark spots and sparks of insanity-stricken grief.

_Why me? How could-How-? They were watching us, they were waiting-they were waiting-they were waiting-_

My spiral into darkness must’ve attracted on-lookers, because before I knew it, police had shown up to the residence. No amount of diffusing methods put me back in a state of sanity. I vaguely remember thrashing and howling obscenities at the cops as I was put into the back of a police car.

_**“LET GO OF ME YOU FUCKIN PIGS! HE’S DEAD! HE’S DEAD! THEY SLAUGHTERED HIM! THEY TOOK AWAY THE ONLY THING I’VE EVER LOVED!!”** _

I didn’t come back to my senses until I entered the station. In steel handcuffs, I held out my non-injured wrist for fingerprints to be taken. They placed me in a cold and dense jail cell until I could be questioned. The moment I got in there, I flopped on the stone bench with false relief. My body has never felt so defeated, so tired...so used…

_How did it come to this? I didn’t ask for this. I only asked to be left alone, to have peace, to be loved._

It felt like eternity, but I was eventually taken back into the interrogation room. It smelled like mold, the white stone walls were cracking, and the wooden chairs were on the verge of collapse. Also, inside was a small, dark haired woman waiting for me.

_**“Hi, Ms. Drexel. I’m Detective Laura Hankins. I’m here to ask you about the scene we picked you up from. To be clear, we have no reason to believe you had a part of Mr. Fehn’s death. We only had to restrain you due to your erratic behavior. We just need to know what you’ve experienced.”** _

Without hesitation, I told her everything. About the dark-haired man, the grave, the stolen items. How Chris mentioned cult-like activity around his farm. Everything. She didn’t bat an eye; she only listened with intent and intrigue:

**_“A grave you say? Across the street from the Fehn residence? Is there any reason that you or he would have anyone with a personal vendetta against you?”_ **

The conversation went on for an hour. She seemed to be aware of the activity, and was stumped as to why they were occurring. As I was leaving, she handed me a card:

_**“You and your loved ones will be under surveillance as per safety protocol. Do not, under any circumstances, take this upon yourself. I’m super sorry for your loss Ms. Drexel. Please come to me if you find out any more info. Call me directly.”** _

The next step after leaving the room was a mystery.

_Do I call grandma? No, she would have a heart attack. Sid? No, he’d go off his rocker. Jim? He doesn’t need to be concerned with this._

As I got lost in pondering my choices, a very familiar voice called out to me:

“Lizzy?”

There has only been one person ever to call me that.

_Shawn._

Time hasn’t done him well. He looks so tattered and torn. The moment my eyes lied on him, I began to weep. He immediately pulled me into a bear hug and comforted me:

_**“Shh shh, it’s okay. Maggie sent me as soon as she heard where you were. She couldn’t bare coming all the way. What the hell happened?”** _

I reiterated the whole story to him on the ride back. He almost didn’t believe what he was hearing. What baffled me was his reaction to Chris’ death; he seemed both very enthralled and enraged about the details of the scene:

_**“….so...like an apple in his mouth?….how do you know that it wasn’t his blood in his hair?….why the fuck did someone put lipstick on him...?”** _

In order to make the atmosphere more comfortable, I changed the subject. The rest of the trip was pretty much a game of catch up. I almost forgot how charismatic he was. He always has spoken with such purpose; every word that came out of his lips begged to be understood. His body movements further progressed your interest in everything being said. I’ve always told him that he could become a priest with the raw enigmatic energy he radiates. After years of not speaking, It seemed like this ride rekindled our old mismatched relationship all over again.

_Man I wish I could go back to the days when he taught me drums. They were so simple and meaningful. I’ve always thought of Shawn as a brother, a mentor, and friend. Too bad things went wrong._


	12. Cards & Rage

We got back to the apartment, and the first thing we both saw were two figures arguing by my front door. As I got a closer look, I realized that those figures were Jim and Sid.

_I thought Jim was supposed to be leaving today._

Pulling up front, Shawn stayed in the car. He seemed hesitant, almost afraid, to get out with me.

**_“I uh, must be heading back home. Chantel doesn’t like me staying out too late with the kids running around. Please call me if you need anything.”_ **

The two were in such a heated battle, that they barely noticed me coming up to them. This wasn’t the playful banter that was shared before between my friend and Chris. This was something more personal, something more intense. I have never seen Sid this pensive and emotionally driven; his face was cherry red, and tears were streaming down his cheeks. Jim was no different. His blue eyes seethed with rage, and veins were bulging out the side of his neck.

I almost couldn’t discern what was being said; the two voices going at each other sounded like a cacophony of out of tune guitars and busted out drum kits. It seemed like the two were blaming each other for my series of unfortunate events. I wasn’t shocked by this tension between them. They didn’t really get along back in high school. It always seemed like they were always in a constant battle for my undivided attention.

No amount of soft pleas stopped the bickering. As each moment passed, my head started to pound harder, and my ears were rung with more intensity.

_I can’t take this anymore._

In order to dissolve the situation, I had to resort to screaming at the top of my lungs. Noticing the pure rage and hurt on my face, the boys snapped into reality. Both looked as if they cheaply avoided death. For a few moments, we all sat there silently, with shallow breaths and car horns being the only discernible sounds present.

In order to break the awkward silence, Sid finally decided to speak:

**_“Wow...I haven’t heard you sound like this in a long time. I’m so fuckin sorry that horrible shit keeps happening to you. It fuckin hurts my heart to see you in pain.”_ **

Jim just stood there in silence for several moments. It took him a second to finally push something out:

_**“……Liz, I-I don’t know what to say… like I couldn’t imagine losing someone in such a horrific way. I’m sorry, I'm so sorry. I- i-m not the best with words, y’know?”** _

Both of them decided to stay with me for the night. For the first time ever, they seemed to get along well. I thought being with Jim alone made me feel young, but this was on another level of nostalgic; we played cards, Sid attempted to play guitar, and there was also an attempt at an insult battle. Sid won it of course.

It even got to the point where the boys decided to go on a beer run together. They insisted I’d go, but I thought I’d enjoy a little peace and quiet.

_**“God Liz, are you sure? I don’t know if I could last with Mr. Fee Fi Fo Fum over here!”** _

_**“Oh shut the hell up, Splinter!”** _

As they walked out the door, my sides kept on splitting from the hilarity. When I finally caught my breath, I decided to go for a shower.

The feeling of the warm pressure reminded me of when I was a Chris’ place that day. A sudden bit of melancholy hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt myself slipping once more. All I could do is sit on the shower floor and sob.

_He’s gone, he’s really gone. The only guy that I’ve felt any sort of raw, real emotion for, is gone. They took him from me. I know I only knew him for a short amount of time, but god I can’t help loving him. His calloused hands, soft hair, baby blues, and gentle smile; his laugh, his stubble, his soft voice. His everything. Without him here, the world is so much smaller; it feels like my heart has been carved out with a rusty chainsaw._

My thoughts were interrupted by the door slamming. I figured that it was the boys, so I took my time getting out and getting ready. But all of a sudden, an unsettling feeling hit me; it was the same heaviness that I felt at Chris’ place earlier today.

_It’s quiet. It’s TOO quiet. There’s no way that Sid would come in like this._


	13. Hatebreed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw// gun violence, graphic death depictions

I grabbed the .22 my dad gave me for a Christmas gift the year before he passed. At the time I thought it was an awful idea, but now I saw its purpose. Holding the weapon in my hands, the memories of dad’s words flooded in:

_**“Purity, this gun is for your protection. This world is a dark and dangerous place; there are people who want to hurt, kill, and destroy without mercy. They will want to take advantage of your innocence. Show them different. Show them the devil hiding behind that pretty exterior.”** _

_Dad was a beautiful, but troubled soul. Drugs took him out of this world. They took him from me, and they took Chris away from me. This world took the only two men I loved from me._

_This motherfucker deserves no mercy._

Like an assassin, I crept around the corner where the hallway met the living area. Weirdly, I found the intruder just sitting on my couch. He was most definitely waiting for me to come out. If we weren’t in this situation, he would be on my romantic radar. He had thick curly hair, which was a blue, red, and purple; his eyes were a grayish blue and his lips formed a small heart shape. Overall, he was quite the attractive dude.

_**“I know you’re there Liz, come the fuck out here.”** _

_What? How’d he know?_

With the gun pointed directly at him, I stomped around the corner. Like a criminal who has given up at a stand-off, he stood and put his hands up immediately.

_Wow, this fucker is short._

Terror and shock crossed his once smug face; the almost confident man turned into a piss-soaked child. There were no tears running down yet, but you could tell that he was close to sobbing.

_**“Do-don’t shoot! Puh-pl-please. I’m not here to hurt you.”** _

_Bullshit. I bet this motherfucker works for the lip-ringed bastard._

In a snarl, I demanded answers. I charged forward and jabbed the gun at his abdomen. The longer he avoided my questioning, the deeper I pushed in. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but was too afraid to do so. Finally, in a yelp, he finally croaked:

_**“LOOK! I can fuckin bring you to him if you want. P-p-paul won’t suspect anything, my job was to bring you to him anyway. You can act like you’re in distress, and then when he lets his guard down, you can pull your gun. Capeesh?”** _

I wasn’t buying it. I told him that there was no way in hell that I was giving him my gun. If I put my trust in him too quickly, my brain could end up splattered on the floor.

After a ten-minute stand-off, we finally came up with an agreement: he would go in and act like I’ve been caught, lead him in the room where I was supposedly at, and then I could have Paul for my torturing delight.

As we got into his car, I moved the weapon to his temple; you could tell his adverseness to drive by the white of his knuckles on the steering wheel. The whites of his eyes could be seen all the way from the passenger seat. I don’t know if he was more scared of me, or what he was about to face at the hands of his leader.

It was a violently mute drive; there were no words I wanted to say to this scumbag. After a long, pitch-black ride, we eventually pulled into an old corn mill. There was no question that this was their hangout spot. This conclusion can be made due to the assortment of cars out front, and the heavy metal music blasting from the inside.

 _Hatebreed. For a group of cult-like vigilantes, they aren’t intelligent, discreet, OR vigilant for that matter_.

The air sent a surge of adrenaline through me. It felt like a mix of bitter malice and steroids have been injected into my soul. All forms of reason left my mind in fleeting waves. The plan we had made before was out the window.

_I want blood._

I made him lead me back to where the main chill out room was. The hallway leading to it was dark, bitter, and damp. Without the other man, I wouldn’t have been able to navigate us through.

Before he could turn the knob, I broke the door with the .22. What was past it was four very shocked men in the middle of a poker game. There was “CRAIG” from the DMV, the VMW guy, the gas station cashier, and of course, there was the man from the club that I remember so clearly.

_Paul. I remember the dude calling him Paul._

_Too bad he’s a literal homicidal maniac, because goddamn he’s a pretty fucker._

Before I knew it, the VMW guy had a pistol to my head. In an almost sneering tone, Paul was the first to speak:

_**“Glad you could make it Liz, I see you’ve managed to snag Corey. Just shows how much of a little bitch he is. I’m so pumped that my note at pig boy’s house resonated with you enough to make you stop by. Now that I got you here, did you enjoy the lipstick I applied for you to smooch him with?!”** _

Everyone except Corey and I laughed. Their faces, mixed with their screeching laughter settled like a kaleidoscope in my head. Colors, open mouths, and maniacal laughter were all my conscious could process.

**_“HHHaaaahahahaHhhahAAaaaahHaaaAAAAAHAAHAAAAA ! ! ! ”_ **

Corey tackling Paul in a fit of rage put me back into reality. A cacophony of gun shots, metal music, and desperate screams soared in the air… There were cards flying, chips crashing, tables snapping, and walls splattering with blood. This scene of chaos was almost poetic in a way. At the drop of a hat, what once were spineless allies were now violent enemies. It goes to show what a life like this can lead you to.

Shut the hell up Liz. Get the fuck out of here.

This debacle gave me time to slip out and make a run for it. I forgot the hallway was pitch black, but that didn’t stop me from my mission. Behind me was the sound of steady footsteps, progressively speeding up in time with mine.

CLOMP

CLOMP

CLOMPCLOMPCLOMPCLOMPCLOMP-

I got to the car that I arrived in, but a pair of big hands grabbed me from behind before I could open it.

PLUNK.

Like a sack of potatoes, I was tossed aggressively on the ground. This was the first good look of the stranger that started this mess. His dark eyes turned black with rage, and his teeth gritted as he pinned his hands to my neck. In order to keep me in place, his knees sat firmly on my hips. With almost no air in my lungs, I begged him for an explanation. I knew considering his behavioral patterns, that begging for life wasn’t an option at this point. He brought his face directly down at me. With lips directly on mine, he spat:

_**“You don’t fucking get it. Because of you, this universe is gonna unleash an Armageddon like no other. Cities will burn, children will be slaughtered, and pigs will scalp the innocent. I wasn’t supposed to kill you on my own, but fucking Christ I couldn’t help it. Getting revenge on beautiful, privileged, people have always been my fuckin dream. It’s cunts like you that have ruined the goddamn lives of poor and pride-less bastards like me. My obsession has far surpassed reality. I need you, Purity. I want to breathe you. I want to kill you. I want to please you. That’s why I had to get that bastard out of my fuckin way. He was stopping us from being together. You will always be mine. You-"** _

BAM.

A gunshot rung and rummaged in Paul’s brain. Before I knew it, his big body lied bloodied and limp on mine. I couldn’t react, I didn’t know how to react. I sat there for a second in withered shock.

_The weight of his body is unbearable. I need to get him off._

After a few jolts to rid of the weight, a big boot finally kicked him off. As I rose to my knees, a gun was placed to my skull. These motions made me close my eyes and hold my breath. No crying, no pleading.

_God, please take me. I don’t deserve any more chances._

When I gathered the courage to do it, I opened my eyes. The person standing before me was almost too unbelievable to bare.

_S-Shawn?_

_**“Oh Liz, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. When I met you, I knew I wanted to take you under my wing. You were such a tortured child. I wanted to protect you from this godforsaken world. I wanted to be the father that was stripped away from you. But my ex-fiance didn’t see it, she only saw an older man preying on a young, beautiful girl. She didn’t understand that I wasn’t that type of man, and she ruined my life because of it. I lost my livelihood because of that wretched bitch. My career, my home, my dignity; all thrown away because of delusion.** _

_**I wanted revenge. I wanted blood. So I took a bunch of misfits and molded them in my image. I let them believe I was a Lucifer-incarnate. I told them that you, my ex, and her husband were Saints of Christ; that if you guys weren’t sacrificed, that God was gonna punish the troubled, the poor, and the abused. They successfully slaughtered the other two, but you…. you fuckin survived. You were supposed to be suffocated and crucified for the world to see! But Paul, poor Paul, a man who was caught in a world of drugs and gangs, a man who lacked purpose, took it too damn far. He got too obsessed and tried to take matters in his own hands. He fucked us all. Now I must do what I should’ve done a long time ago-”** _

CLICK.

Despite my desperate pleadings for some way to make this right, no words came out of his mouth. The more I spoke, the further the gun was pushed in my head.

I couldn’t tell if his face expression was that of pain, madness, or relief. What I did know was that there were still a tinge of love and longing still present.

_He can’t just obliterate his past away. Once I’m gone, the torment will still exist. But if this is how he wants to try, then so be it._

_Blow me away._


	14. Sweet Relief

_**“DETECTIVE LAURA HANKINS… PUT YOUR GODDAMN HANDS UP RIGHT NOW!!”** _

The detective I once spoke to had a gun at Shawn’s head. I begged her not to shoot him. In a signal of defeat, he placed the gun on the ground and threw his hands in the air. A swarm of police vehicles swarmed around us not long after. They ran up and cuffed him.

As they lead him to one of the cars, Hankins helped me up. She didn’t look happy:

_**“I told you not to handle this by yourself. You’ve could’ve been slaughtered. Your two guy friends gave us intel on your disappearance. Luckily, there was a 911 call complaining about yelling and gunshots. Goddamn it Drexel, goddamn it!!”** _

For someone who just saved my life, she’s kind of an asshole. But what officers aren’t?

I looked over and saw the other three men being taken in as well. They were all scarred and bloodied to hell, but there seemed to be no casualties on their end. As they were getting in the cars, the detective gave details:

_**“Profiles of these cronies have been curated through months of interrogation and investigation. We’ve been on Crahan’s tail for a while now, but had no solid evidence to bring him in with.** _

_**Corey Taylor, once was a homeless freeloader. Mickeal Thomson, a struggling guitarist living with his girlfriend. Craig Jones, a struggling DMV employee with a wife and kids. Joey Jordison, a young, impressionable, drummer with no direction. All of them crossed paths with Crahan at some point; he enticed them with job or career promise, and manipulated their insecurities in his image. They successfully killed an ex of Crahan’s, and her husband via hanging. A former cult member, that we designate only as “Josh”, came forward and tipped us with this info shortly after you left.”** _

I was taken back home by the detective. The ride was silent, but full of desperate relief. The air felt lighter, like any worry in the world has mysteriously vanished. Listening to the hum of the vehicle going down the highway, I gently closed my eyes and fell asleep.

When we arrived, she shook me gently. The only words she spoke were:

**_“This is truly a tragedy to behold. Who would’ve thought a man like Crahan, a man with so much potential and promise, would turn to this? Please Drexel, if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call.”_ **

I was assaulted with hugs and sobs by both men. In Sid fashion, there were even a couple of morbid jokes made:

_**“Wow, you’re like a fuckin cat. No matter what shit happens to you, you come out cleaner than ever.”** _

_What an asshole._

After a various amount of crack ups, he did the impossible. He became actually genuine:

 ** _“After almost losing you, I realized that it’s time to finally get my shit together. This life is short, but so fuckin demanding. That idea alone made me live it as loosely as possible. I didn’t wanna die conforming to the bullshit my parents did. But this shit has been hurting me, and nothing is fulfilling anymore; you’re the only person that makes me truly happy. In celebration of your living, I’m gonna do what I can to be that stable buddy you’ve always needed. There are a couple clubs that have actually been looking for me to DJ at. If I can land those, I could go somewhere. I could be something._** ”

_Never change Sid Wilson. I love you man._

He almost cried when I told him that.

To avoid doing so, he reverted to his old self:

_**“That’s enough sappy talk asshole! I gotta save that for the ladies at my gigs!”** _

During this whole conversation, Jim just sat there listening. As soon as he knew Sid was done talking, he finally started talking about coming back to Des Moines:

_**“Liz, I’ve always had feelings for you. I just never knew how to say it. I’m so glad this tragedy brought us together again. It’s time to start over. It’s time for me to start over, with you. I know I’ll never be half the man Chris was, but I can sure as hell try. I can move in, and we could begin a new life together. Please give this a chance. Please Liz.”** _

_…. I don’t know how to answer this. I love Jim, but…. in that way? I don’t know. I mean the benefits outweigh the negatives. What do I have to lose?_

His eyes lit up as I accepted the offer. He also understood when I told him that I would have to give our relationship some time before reconsidering its status:

_**“Of course. I’m willing to wait for you. I love you Liz, and that will never change.”** _


	15. Reality?

A month passed since the incident. All men involved were charged and sentenced to life in prison. About a week after sentencing, I received a call from Corey. Hearing his story, and his pleas for forgiveness gave me some closure. It made me realize how human he was; how he, or Paul for that matter, weren’t actually insane. They were vulnerable pawns, who were used and manipulated into playing a sick game. I forgave his sins, but told him that I will never forget the wrong done onto me.

It was a bitter and snowy December day. Flutters of cold clusters touched my nose as I watched the man I once loved being buried in the ground. Talking to his siblings, his aunts, and his mother made me fall in love with him all over again. He dedicated his life to love, to doing more for others rather than for himself. That’s why he left college to take over that farm. He wanted to give his grandparents a peaceful retirement and death, despite him having dreams of his own.

Something his sister said in particular set in my heart with melancholic yearning:

_**“Hours before Chris passed, he called me. He told me that he had met the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He told me that he fell in love with you once he saw your face. The passion and love in his voice as he spoke about you was something to witness. I’ll never forget it.”** _

After everyone had left, I stayed longer.

At his grave, I sat down and lied carnations next to me. I told him about Jim, my hand healing, and even about Sid getting a DJ gig in the biggest venue in Des Moines. My heart was bleeding into the white cold that was beneath me. This scene was beautifully depressing. Time began to slow the longer I remained there. I even fell asleep with my head at the end of the stone.

I then woke and gasped for air.

My eyes shot open at a rapid speed. My vision spotted black, head pounding out of my ears, and sick spewing out the corners of my mouth. But none of this mattered. There was no time to care about the state of semi-conscious hangover my body was in.

_Where the fuck am I?_

My body was stiff, almost immobile, crammed inside a claustrophobic space. It illuminated no light, and the stiff cold of the wood was splintering my half naked body.

_This is it. This is how I die. There’s no point in trying to preserve this sad excuse for a life. With acceptance of my fate, I closed my eyes and let dense air take my lungs for hostage._


End file.
